


Iceland

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Series: Sneakers and Saddle Shoes [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Soft BDSM, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 18:51:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13981209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: Jughead plans a daytrip for his girl.*I read about a certain actor who likes to plan activities as extended seduction and couldn't get the idea out of my mind. Of course, the actor has enough money to take his lover to Hawaii, while Juggie has to make do with a train trip to Pembrooke.But Betty Cooper is always game to play along, and in the end what's important is the journey, not the destination.EDITED TO ADD THIS PSA: Make sure the water isn't too hot. js





	Iceland

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EarthLaughsInFlowers](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=EarthLaughsInFlowers).



She’s the first thing he sees when Jughead arrives for the 10:15 to Pembrooke. Betty waits on the train platform seat, bare legs crossed under the circle skirt and crinoline petticoat he picked out for her the night before. He’ll never forget how she stood in her room in garters and hose, waiting as he pulled out different clothes and held them up to try against her body.

Three other people dot the station. A ticket seller, a businessman at the other end of the line, the bored hipster in a coffee truck – none of them realize that neat-as-a-pin Betty Cooper wears a naughty pair of frilled panties under those layered skirts. Only Jughead knows, and the thought makes delicious electricity pinprick across his skin.

He strides across the platform with his usual messenger bag bumping one hip to stand in front of her. “Miss Cooper,” he says.

Betty closes the book on her knee. “Mr. Jones,” she replies coolly.

“Uncross your legs,” Jughead murmurs. She complies, and he moves to stand between her knees. The crinoline froths over his old chinos, white lace against faded canvas, and her mary janes bracket his worn work boots.

No one notices. It’s as if they are alone in the little bubble they’ve created. He lifts her chin with one finger, smiles into those darkening eyes. _Take it slow,_ he reminds himself. _We’ve got all day._

The thought of the scene they’re about to play out tickles his dick. Betty has played along with every idea he’s had – and there have been quite a few – with her usual enthusiasm. The girl who fights to be best in everything doesn’t hold back in bed either, and he’s the lucky fella who benefits. In return he’s planned a daytrip that will turn into an extended seduction, if everything goes well. So far, looking at her ruffles and taffeta, the forecast is for heavy thunder and lightning.

Despite several stints of homelessness, Jughead’s had some good times as a kid. He spent a summer at the lake with the Andrews, and his short story won a prize in the state writing contest.

Betty’s still greatest thing that’s ever happened to him.

She welcomes him into her bed with enthusiastic passion. Each time he climbs over her windowsill, all leather and clumsy boots, Betty greets him with a bright smile that wouldn’t be out of place on a 40’s silver screen icon.

Their stolen hours together have been filled with sweet kisses and gasping passion, this much is true, but a fragile friendship has flourished between them as well. Jughead’s discovered Betty’s wicked sense of humor and vital intelligence are just as sexy as the curve of her belly or the tiny dimples just above her gorgeous ass. The truth is he’s in danger of falling for her. He’s caught himself lost in thoughts of Betty for hours on end, and they’re not just about the day’s sexcapade.

And lately he’s been kept awake by one question: Does she feel the same?

But she smiles up at him, and her voice is swallowed by the arrival of their train, and Jughead catches her hand in his. “This way, sugar.” He leads her to an empty train car, just as he planned. Weeks of research have paid off.

Jughead guides her into the window seat. It’s an hour’s trip to Pembrooke, just long enough for what he’s got in mind. In their rear row, they’ve got a private space, their own little island. He puts her straw bucket of a purse next to his old messenger bag on the hold above them and sits, making sure he gets her into the crook of his arm.

“One day,” he murmurs into Betty’s ear, “we’ll take a plane ride to … somewhere. I’ll sit next to you and watch you sleep and, when you wake up, tease you without mercy until we land.”

Her eyes light with instant interest. “Iceland. We could visit Reykjavik and see the Northern Lights.”

“Iceland,” Jughead agrees. “Uh, is there a lot of food in Iceland?”

“Besides the sheep heads and ram testicles?” Betty gives him a sidelong glance and bursts out laughing. “Pretty sure they have amazing cheese and fish. And pastries,” she adds when he sniffs.

“Hamburgers?”

“Can you make do with lamburgers? Or puffinburgers?” She settles herself in the seat as the train to Pembrooke lurches and starts their journey. “Kidding. I’m sure we can find you a burger and fries, although we need to have a talk about your sense of adventure.”

“Humph.” Jughead pretends to scowl. “You more than anyone knows I’m always adventurous. Speaking of which, it’s time for you to remove those frilly knickers you have on.”

“Oh.” Betty starts to get up, but Jughead shakes his head and tightens his arms. “You mean – here?”

“Here. I want to watch.”

His heart pounds as Betty’s lashes brush her cheeks. “The conductor or someone might see,” she whispers.

“Make sure they don’t. That sight’s just for me.” Jughead feels his chest rise and fall, the hammer inside sending blood straight to his prick. _Jesus._ These scenes tease Betty for hours, but they’re delicious torture for him as well.

He watches as she wriggles, pretends to look unconcerned. A minute later there’s a flash of pink, and her frilled vanity fairs appear around her knees, fall to her ankles.

Jughead takes the delicate silk and stuffs it into the pocket of his flannel before turning her and spooning Betty’s firm body against his. He leans his chin on her shoulder so they can both look out of the window at Greendale clattering by beyond the track. “See those houses?” he whispers. “The poor souls who live there have no idea what I’m doing right now.” As he talks, his hand wanders under her layers to Betty’s silky skin.

“Juggie,” she whispers.

“Shh. We’re just happy tourists who want to watch the view. Don’t move.” His thumb caresses her inner thigh, feeling his way up. He allows himself one touch, a single brush over the wet little button hidden there, and she hums as her head falls back against his. “You shaved,” Jughead breathes. “Just like I asked you to.”

“I did.”

He feels her smile. It’s tempting to keep stroking her, bring her off right there on the train, especially since each touch takes him closer to the edge with her. Betty sighs and purrs in his arms, but he withdraws his hand.

They’ve got miles and hours to go in this adventure. Jughead grins at her disappointment and settles more comfortably against her.

#

Pembrooke Academy is a private school in the grandest tradition. It sits on miles of forested land along Sweetwater, the old buildings so covered with ivy they appear to disappear into the woods.

Jughead has hitch-hiked there several times and found an old gazebo, a groundskeeper’s cottage, one exquisite walled garden no one ever seems to visit. He’s spent hours there surrounded by wild roses, writing stories and taking pictures with his dad’s discarded Pentax camera.

He and Betty sneak over the back gates, which she negotiates like a champ. There’s a guard complex they have to avoid, easy enough in the thick trees. Once they’re free and clear in the woods, Jughead back Betty against a massive oak and kisses her slowly, exploring her mouth. “We’re gonna have lunch,” he tells her. “I’m starving.”

“Must be Tuesday.” Betty follows him to the border of the walled-in rose garden, waits as he uses a knife to digs up a Prince Albert can, and retrieves a key. “How Secret Garden of you,” she comments. “Are a crusty gardener and a waif from the moors waiting inside?”

“Let’s see.” Jughead winks and opens the door. Inside, the tiny space is half in sunshine, all shadows and early roses. At Betty’s gasp he adds, “Guess the walls keep it warm in here? So there are lots of flowers and junk.”

“And junk.” He can hear the amusement in her voice. “Well, you win Best Alfresco Lunch Spot award.”

There are apples, cheese, and the end of a loaf in his bag under a ratty Ferocious Beast blanket left behind by the Bean. Not looking at her, Jughead spreads out his meager feast and mutters Lunch is served.

“I’m starving.” Betty doesn’t comment on the apples, which are wrinkled with age, or the hardened edge of the cheese. She layers a slice of bread with both, takes a huge bite, and sighs with contentment. “Doesn’t food taste awesome outside? We should do this every day.”

Ignoring his sardonic aside, Betty sips some water and blots her mouth neatly. “Jug,” she begins. “You know when we were on the train? And you touched me?”

“I think I can recall.” He puts down the crust filled with cheddar and edges closer to her. “Did you like that?”

“It was amazing.” Her shoe nudges his ankle. “Someone could have walked past any second, but they couldn’t have seen anything.”

“My hand between your thighs, you mean. One finger on your clit.”

Betty’s eyes close, and her head falls back for a moment. “Yes. Oh, god, it made me throb down there. I’m still pulsing, to tell you the truth. You concentrate so completely on me I feel that nothing else exists. It’s intense.”

“Come here.” Jughead leans against one crumbling wall and settles her into the vee between his legs, Betty’s back against his chest. He’s able to touch her at will, the smooth skin behind her ear, cup one satin knee, firm handfuls of breasts. “I’m not saying quickies are bad, but I love spending all day on seduction – seducing you, is what I’m saying.”

“Thanks for making that clear.” Betty turns and whispers, “Can you kiss me?”

“Mm.” He give her a soft brush of lips, the merest hint of tongue, leaves her wanting more. “One day I’m going to take you to Iceland.”

“Will you really plan out a whole trip for us?”

Jughead blows softly on her neck, licks, and gives her a quick nip. She yelps in response, but Betty’s also bucking into his lap, grinding against his stiff prick.

“Does it feel good sitting here without any underwear on?” he asks. “Yeah? I think you could lift your skirt a bit, just to give the roses a show.”

“I’m shy,” Betty whispers, but at the same time she slides both palms up those long, shapely legs.

“Open up for me,” Jughead insists. “There. Can you feel the breeze, you naughty girl?”

Betty’s mouth fall open, and she moans. _Oh God._ Jughead makes the mistake of touching her thigh, her lips, that beautiful vertical smile and Christ, she’s so wet. His fingers slish into her, slide just off-center the way he knows she likes. It’s so dangerous, so forbidden, so wrong. It’s fucking fantastic. He feels like he’s touching himself at the same time, and his dick jumps against her rounded ass. Her hips cant against him, spiking his lust.

“Wait.” Jughead moves away and straightens out the Ferocious Beast blanket. “Lie down for me, sugar. I’m hungry.”

#

He loves licking into Betty, tasting every fold. Jughead fucks his tongue up inside her, hums against the nub just how she likes. Flicks with his, just the very slightest brush with his teeth. Betty’s starting to babble, moving rhythmically beneath him, and he covers her sex with his hand to look at her. “Tell me if you’re getting close,” he commands. “I’m going to edge you again. I want your eyes rolling back in your head when I finally let you come.”

“Juggie,” Betty whimpers. “My whole body’s singing with it. So close.”

He wants to drive inside her, but Jughead knows it will move too quickly. Instead he tells her again to hold off before flicking that pulsing little button with his tongue.

“I’m going to…” Her voice shiver, chest heaving.

“Stop. Don’t you dare.”

He seizes her ankles, yanks her flush with him. Betty is bared down there, so decadent against his clothed body. “One day I’m going to make you wait. You’ll beg me. I’ll unzip and shoot all over your face, would you like that?”

“Mark me,” Betty begs. “I want you to.”

“Not now.” Jughead pulls her up so she sits on his lap. “We’ll be in a luxurious hotel with a big tub. After we’re done, I’ll wash you in bubbles like a fancy starlet. Soap every part of you, right down to your toes.”

“Really?” Betty’s eyes glaze, and she bites her lower lip. “Please, can I touch you? Please?”

“Well. Since you asked so politely.”

Jughead watches his girl climb off his lap, suck her breath as she runs her fingers down his flannel. She stops at his belt, waits for him to nod, and undoes his pants. Her palm is cool and firm against him. “So good for me, sugar,” he says. “So, so sweet, ever since we started this little game. You’re – you’re everything.”

His words are starting to get away from him. Thank goodness, Betty doesn’t call him out. “Can I kiss it?” she asks. “I have a little trick I want to try.” Her eyes are green, mischievous through dark blond lashes, and how can he resist?

His heart beats so loudly he’s certain someone outside their little garden will hear as Betty opens her little straw basket, takes out a thermos, and pours tea into the lid. “Warm, but not too warm,” she says before taking a sip. She bends, gives him a wink before engulfing his head.

Her mouth is filled with the warm liquid. She swishes it around his length, and Jughead curses. “Betty, Jesus. Where did you – mmm, holy shit – where did you – Oh motherofgod.”

Her mouth swallows around him, and he tries and remember the names of his third grade teacher and the old baseball team line-up. One more swirl, and Jughead has to pull her off before he blows.

They kneel in the grass for a moment, staring at each other. Betty’s eyes are dark, her lips are spit-slick and crimson, her skirt is tucked up to reveal her elegant little slit. Jughead knows he looks just as debauched, zip open with his penis rearing out of his pants.

With a shared wild gasp, they reach for each other in the same second. Jughead falls on top of her.

Betty’s on her back, her legs wrapped around him. Her mouth opens under his. His impatient hands push aside the neat silk blouse, hers are sliding up under his flannel to scratch his back. With the one last brain cell he’s got left, he fumbles for a condom from his pocket.

“Let me.” Betty rips it open with her teeth, twists, and slides it over his length with her mouth.

Jughead cradles her head, settles her on the Ferocious Beast, and lowers his body cautiously. She’s so wet his hard prick pokes instantly between her lips to slide in, seems the old boy knows just where she lives. He thrusts, thinking vaguely they should be standing or doing some hot yoga pose, except he can’t do anything but thrust, and bite his lip, and pray he doesn’t shout words of love.

#

That evening at Pops, Betty unwraps a straw and pokes it into the pillow of whipped cream on her milkshake. Jughead does the same thing, inhaling half his drink in one slurp. The inadequate lunch and incredible sex have made him ravenous.

“Brain frost?” Her face screws up with classic Betty full-body sympathy.

“Yeah. Forget about that. Come here.” Jughead beckons with his fingers, waits for her to settle next to him in the booth, and drapes one arm around her shoulders with a long _Ahhh_. He deserves this.

“You know, if you do that, everyone will know we’re together,” Betty points out.

“Good.” A thought strikes him, and he turns to face her. “Is that a problem?”

Her eyelids tighten, a micro-expression. Jughead knows his girl well enough by know to realize she’s happy.

A sound of tapping heels behind them, and Cheryl stops beside their table. With a sniff, she flicks a red fingernail at Betty’s milkshake. “Vanilla,” she says. “How appropriate.”

Jughead’s just able to wait until she flounces off before letting loose with a spluttering laugh. “Tell me, Miss Cooper, what would be the appropriate milkshake for our date today?”

Betty picks up her straw, fixes him with an unblinking gaze, and licks it clean with one curl of her tongue. “Easy,” she says. “White chocolate frills suspended in heavy spiced cream. I’m calling it a Slow Comfortable Hike through Iceland.”

**Author's Note:**

> EarthLaughsInFlowers left such a lovely review on Degrees that I promised them a oneshot. Their prompts were Iceland, hiking, and bughead - and here we are.


End file.
